


Nobody

by Bookish_penguin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack Fic, Fluff, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Just 2 husbands in love, Multi, Valentine’s day crack fic, domesticated!!, happy V day everyone :), like i said, so idk what’s going on either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22715371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookish_penguin/pseuds/Bookish_penguin
Summary: Aziraphale is assigned the role of Cupid for a day. Now what could possibly go wrong?A short in which Aziraphale does his job without reading the instructions, Crowley suffers from the repercussions and God has a little laugh at the end of the day. Valentine’s this year, is, well, safe to say absolutely chaotic.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	Nobody

Mornings in South Downs were quiet affairs. Aziraphale woke on his back, feeling rather constricted around the middle. He glanced down and saw why—there was a certain demon clinging on as if his life depended on it. Crowley’s face was half-nestled into the pillows away from the sun, flaming locks lifting in the cool breeze. His eyes were peacefully closed. The sight of this alone sparked a blossom of overwhelming warmth across his chest, and he was almost certain he was glowing with sheer fondness. 

To confirm his suspicions, Crowley’s face scrunched up and he buried deeper into the pillows. “Too bright.”

Aziraphale leaned down to peck his forehead. The demon made a low, sleepy sound in his throat. “Morning, my dear.”

A clumsy hand reached up to gently push his face away. 

“Briggghtttt.” Crowley complained into the pillows. “Don’t come ‘ere.”

Aziraphale did just that. He draped himself over Crowley’s lanky form, the bare skin of their arms and legs gliding over each other, and pressed fleeting kisses to the side of his face until Crowley had to stifle a laugh and roll onto his back. Yellow eyes slid open, orbs of brilliant gold in the morning light. Aziraphale was at once so spellbound his love-struck glow threatened to blind his demon again, and the latter shut his eyes with a groan. 

“I’ll put the kettle on, dear.” Aziraphale climbed out of bed first, knowing Crowley would still catch a few more minutes (possibly hours) of sleep. He threw Crowley a pillow to hug before he left the room, and the demon settled back down happily under the covers like a cat. 

Aziraphale had the layout of their cottage memorised. His feet navigated him to the kitchen without him even thinking, and the kettle at once moved onto the lit stove and their excellent canister of tea leaves screwed itself open. Aziraphale turned to the cabinet, drawing out two contrastly-coloured mugs. The vintage radio switched itself on. 

“ _ You know when it's twelve o'clock in Soho, baby. _

_ It's gin o'clock where I wake up, I don't know…” _

The words distorted from a static in the air. All the hairs on Aziraphale’s neck stood immediately, and he would’ve dropped the mugs if not for thousands of years of discipline. 

“Principality Aziraphale,” drawled a much dreaded voice. “I’ve come seeking a favour.”

Oh, for someone’s sake. 

Aziraphale steeled himself and turned reluctantly. There perched on the kitchen counter was a much smaller angel than anticipated; a cherub, to be exact. Their head was crowned by rings of gold, eyes a delicate pink. He only needed one look at the bow in their hands and the quiver of arrows behind their back to know who he was dealing with. 

“I’m not sure if you received the news, Cupid, but I no longer take orders from heaven.” 

“Not an order,” the cherub said impatiently. “A favour.  _ Personal _ favour. You’ll surely help out a colleague in distress, won’t you, Zira?”

_ No, not really,  _ was what Aziraphale wanted to say, but he tried for a more cordial approach. “What kind of favour?”

Cupid beamed. “As you know, I’ve been working the Valentine’s Day magic for centuries. So hard at work, in fact, that I’ve never really experienced the whole hullabaloo for myself. What say you, Zira, to take over my job in this Valentine’s?”

Aziraphale deadpanned. “And why, exactly, would I help you?”

The radio sung on. He could see through the bedroom window from here, where Crowley still snoozed away, utterly oblivious to the new celestial presence in their home.  _ “Honey, when you warm the bed on Wednesday…” _

“No offence, Zira, but surely you have nothing to do. I mean, you aren’t exactly a full-time staff anymore, are you?”

“Well, not  _ nothing _ .” He thought about the dinner plans he and Crowley had already discussed the day before, but loathed to even think of trying to explain it to another angel. “Today isn’t really the best day—”

“It won’t take more than a couple of hours.” A scroll was already being obnoxiously shoved into Aziraphale’s hands. It was sealed with the wax coat of Heaven’s sigil. “And the archangels will be very pleased when they hear you’re taking on active duty again.”

_ “If I had the choice between hearing either noise; _

_ The excitement of a thousand, or the soothing of your voice.” _

Aziraphale sighed inwardly. The last time he felt the need to work for Heaven’s praise had been in...let him think...mesopotamia. He was already thinking up ways to banish the cherub as quickly as possible, and oh—preferably before the water boils. 

Cupid seemed to realise their time was running out. Hastily they bleated, “Who knows—maybe I can even convince the archangels to reward you with an extended sabbatical!” 

Aziraphale paused. He considered this. 

“Make it a permanent sabbatical,” he said flatly.

“Deal.”

They shook on it, then the deed was done. Aziraphale was handed Cupid’s bow, a lengthy list of names he had to matchmake, and a rather wrinkled pamphlet which turned out to be an instruction manual. He flipped through it carelessly, not paying heed to any of the words inside.

Cupid sounded worried. “I trust you know how this works?” 

Aziraphale waved it off, sensing Crowley’s approach and desperate to get them out of the house that very instant. “Yes, yes, it’s tickety-boo! Now scram.” 

He snapped his fingers and the cherub disappeared with a squawk. Just then, Crowley sauntered into the kitchen with his eyes still mostly closed and his black pyjamas in a catastrophic state of disarray. Arms tackled him from behind, a cold nose nuzzled into the back of his neck. “Heard your voice. Talking to yourself, angel?”

“You could say that.” Aziraphale smiled. He reached behind to ruffle Crowley’s hair tenderly. “Tea’s ready, dearest. See you at the table?”

“Mm’kay.” He sauntered out into the living room with another endearing yawn. 

Aziraphale turned back to the counter, giving the wall calender a little glare. The 14th of February was circled with a red marker, and Crowley must have drawn in a few hearts (though he’d never admit it). He sighed lightly. Today would be a busy day. 

————

The ride to London was peaceful. Bright sunshine with the windows down, Queen blasting from the stereos as they whizzed down the country paths and onto more familiar roads nearing the city. Aziraphale found himself minding less and less the daredevil speed which Crowley always loved to drive at, instead enjoying the warmth of the demon’s hand under his and the lovely ways the sun would set alight the copper locks of his windblown hair. 

He told Crowley to pull up beside a bookstore. It’d raise less questions than _ “Hyde Park, my dear, where all the young couples are surely frolicking at.”  _

“Sure you don’t need me to come along?” Crowley arched a brow. Aziraphale had a habit of inviting his husband to be an extra hand during his shopping sprees, and sometimes (well, most of the time) the stack of books would end up scraping the ceiling. Save to say, Crowley had unfortunately ended under an avalanche of tomes more than once. Giggles would ensure with a barrage of apologetic kisses, right in the middle of the bookshop. 

“No.” Aziraphale hummed, cranking the car door open. “And where would you be going, my dear?”

“Eh, here and there to pick up some stuff,” he said vaguely. “We  _ are  _ still having dinner, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“Right.” Crowley scratched the back of his neck, already turning pink. Aziraphale resisted the sudden overpowering urge to kiss him. “Um. I’ll be off then. Pick you up at five?”

_ Oh, self control is so pre-Armageddon _ , thought Aziraphale, before lunging across the seat to seal their lips together. Crowley made a noise of surprise in his throat but gave into the kiss easily, reaching behind the angel’s neck to tangle his fingers in his unruly snow-white curls. Aziraphale smiled against his lips, deepening the kiss for one last dizzying second before drawing apart. But not without a teasing graze of teeth against Crowley’s bottom lip. 

The demon’s glasses were askew when he properly drew back. “Ngh. Erm. What...was that for?”

Aziraphale straightened his bow tie pompously. “Do I need a reason?” he said sweetly. 

“Nooo. No no no no.” Crowley glanced away and cleared his throat. “A’right. Cool. Um, see you at five, angel. Don’t be late.” 

He climbed out of the seat and shut the door. “Thank you for the ride, darling.” 

“Nghhh.” Crowley grumbled, then sped away. 

Aziraphale waited till the Bently was completely out of sight before pulling out the scroll from his coat. Oh, there were a  _ lot  _ of names. And not even a single clue as to where he might find them. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He’d better hurry. Best not to keep a demon waiting, especially if said demon was the sulky type. 

“Let’s go…” He oriented himself in the direction calling out most to his senses. “This way.” 

As he walked, his feet left the ground. He was assuming another angel’s job after all; it would be terribly bad manners if he didn’t dress for the occasion. White flowing robes replaced his worn coat, and feathered wings unfurled from his back. A quick miracle dusted them a faint, shiny pink, just as Cupid’s wings would’ve been. Aziraphale examined himself in a shop’s window thoughtfully. Plastered at the corner was an advertisement announcing a last minute sale for roses. He repeatedly compared his reflection to that image of a standard Valentine’s Day cherub; unable to hide his disapproval at their tiny wings (anatomy!) and golden halo. No, he wouldn’t sink so far as to conjure himself one just for publicity’s sake. He had  _ standards _ . 

Drawing Cupid’s bow at the ready, he wondered what Crowley would say if he saw him now. That is, if the demon could even get past the knee-slapping-laughing stage. Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose again. Perhaps it was for the better that Crowley knew nothing about this foolish operation. 

He hovered out from the quiet alleyway, deciding to drift through the streets where the crowd was the heaviest. Although Aziraphale was invisible, he was still technically corporal, and the flocks of pigeons taking off into his face whenever they pleased was making life extremely difficult for him. On one occasion he collided with a swarm of heart-shaped balloons. Not the most pleasant experience, but when Aziraphale successfully untangled himself from the mess, he found two of his targets underneath the balloon cloud. Young and—well, Crowley would say  _ sickeningly _ —in love. Aziraphale himself found it a little sweet. 

He drew two arrows, shot them in quick succession at the blond man and a ginger haired woman. “Off you go.”

Their eyes instantaneously widened. The man gasped aloud, letting loose his hoard of balloons. They drifted skywards and would never again descend. But utterly unperturbed by his hundred of dollars flying off into the sun, the man broke into a sprint down the sidewalk with his partner hot on his heels. Aziraphale didn’t linger to watch. Humans were always so eager to procreate, weren’t they? That had to be why there were so many of them nowadays. 

Aziraphale continued his hunt. The search took him down the busy lanes of Piccadilly circus, thronging with activity with the Valentine’s Day crowd. He hitched a ride on the roof of a red London bus, stopping by St James’ park to match a handful more couples picnicking under the shade, all the white wishing it was him and Crowley out there enjoying the sun. He ventured farther down to Knightsbridge, drifting past tinted windows of older, brick-red buildingsm, shooting stray pairs of arrows here and there. Elise and Rosemary. Thomas and Agatha. Alex and Jacob. They all took off at once after the touch of Cupid’s arrow. 

The names on the list dwindled rapidly. It was rather quick work. Definitely a lot faster than most of his assignments here on earth. As the hours of the clock flew by and it turned late afternoon, Aziraphale stopped to rest atop a church. Maybe the work wasn’t so bad after all. He could get used to this! What could be more fulfilling than giving blessings to happy couples? The world needed more love and Aziraphale had much of it to give. 

“Let’s see here...done, done and done…” Something in his robes rang. It took him a full minute to realise it was a mobile device— _ his _ mobile, which meant someone was looking for him. Was it Adam and his friends again? They sometimes sprung random calls on him to excitedly ask about things that ranged from history essays to the creation of the universe. And Aziraphale, a hoarder of knowledge, could never deny them of any. 

He held the quil between his teeth as he fiddled with the phone. “Hello?”

“ _ ANGEL _ !” The voice on the other line immediately shrieked. ” _ I AM HAVING A PROBLEM. Scrap that, multiple problems! Okay, many, many problems! _ ”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale brightened. “Are you undecided about what flavour of cake to buy?”

“ _ Yeah, wish—it were—that simple! _ ” He sounded as though he was running for his life, gasping for breaths in between hysterical words. “ _ Oh god—satan—somebody _ — _ help! Nghhhh a stampede’s after me! _ ”

“What?” Aziraphale shot to his feet. He desperately tried to recall where he last left the flaming sword. It’d been so long he grew complacent. Stupid,  _ stupid _ . Times like this existed to warn him that he could never fully let his guard down so long as the opposing sides of heaven and hell still existed. “Is it the demons? Angels? Oh, dear lord have mercy— _ Gabriel _ ?”

“ _ No no no no no it’s not that! It’s the humans! The humans, you hear me? _ ”

“Humans? My dear—”

“ _ No, don’t say they’re harmless! Because they’re not, right now they’re fucking bloodthirsty! _ ”

Aziraphale sighed. “What did you do this time, Crowley?”

“ _ Nothing! I swear, angel, I didn’t do—YEAarghhHHh _ —!”

The line cut off with a choked scream. Aziraphale stared down at his phone, bewildered. 

————

**A short while before**

Crowley was browsing through the herb section in the supermarket when he was abruptly tackled by a girl squealing his name. His glasses slipped down his nose. He turned to gawk. Okay? There was a human clinging onto his back. That was...strange, but fine. Just as Aziraphale had his fair share of enamoured humans whenever he appeared in the streets, soft and charming, there was the occasional human who found themselves head over heels for Crowley’s occult aura. Like he said, strange but fine. He’d just pat them on the back with fatherly acknowledgement and then send them back to whatever they had been doing. 

But then minutes later, a man showed up, wrapping him in a bear hug and planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “Crowley! Babe! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Getting manhandled was something Crowley was less accustomed to. Unless it was by his husband of course, against a variety of interesting surfaces. But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“Um.” He smacked his hand square against the man’s face. “Wrong person.”

Lips moved against his palm, and Crowley drew back with a shudder of disgust. “C’mon babe, don’t play hard to get. I bought you sixty-nine balloons! But they kinda flew away. Ahaha—it’s the thought that counts right?”

“Ahaha.” Crowley matched his sultry laugh, then deadpanned. “Put me down, jock boy.”

As soon as the man complied, Crowley spun on his heels and made a break for it. Out of the supermarket and into the open street.

“Kyaaaaa! It’s Mr Crowley!”

Oh no. He had made a terrible mistake. Crowley glanced left and right anxiously. It was a normal Friday afternoon crowd as expected, but what was most unprecedented was the fact that most of them were coming his way. The last time this happened, he had stolen a fowl and an entire village had come after him with torches and pitchforks. He failed to see the correlation. What did he do? Browse some chives and now the entire London street was chasing after him, screaming at the top of their lungs?

“Oh god, oh fuck—” Crowley sprinted for his life, not even knowing why. Something connected with the back of his head and he yelped, catching hold of it to see that it was a box of heart chocolates. “What.” 

The unholy screams behind him redoubled in strength. “Wait up, Mr Crowley! Why are you running so fast?” 

“Angel!” He prayed fervently, yanking his phone out of his pocket and desperately scrolling through his contacts. “Come on, pick up pick up pick up—”

His bastard husband had the nerve to make him call thrice before picking up. 

“ _ Hello _ ?”

“ANGEL! I AM HAVING A PROBLEM.” A bouquet struck his shoulder, spilling red petals all over his feet. The crowd instantly turned batshit feral for reasons Crowley didn’t even want to know.

“How dare you throw roses at Mr Crowley! He’s mine!” 

“Shut up, you hoes! I touched him first, he’s mine!”

Crowley paused behind a brick wall to catch his breath. It was with hellish willpower that he didn’t turn into a snake that instant to slither down the nearest drain. “Scrap that, multiple problems! Okay, many, many problems!”

Aziraphale wasn’t convinced. He sighed. Really, a  _ sigh _ ? “ _ What did you do this time, Crowley? _ ”

“Nothing! I swear, angel, I didn’t do—” Multiple hands planted down firmly on his shoulders. Crowley screeched. “YEAarghhHHh!”

His phone was knocked from his grasp. He was being pulled back, by hands each more ravenous than the next, drawn into the absolute void of the unending crowd only to be smothered by hundreds of caressing hands and forehead smooches. This was it. This was how death would claim him. Right here, right now. The life of Anthony J. Crowley, Serpent of Eden, fallen angel, has finally come to an end. Tell Aziraphale that he loved him. No matter how much a bastard he was sometimes. 

“Why, excuse me! Excuse me.” A familiar voice said witheringly, before the hands musing his hair and cupping his cheek were torn away. A figure loomed over him menacingly. The circle of humans around him hissed and inched away, furious but unable to withstand the irate celestial aura holding them back. 

“Angel! Oh angel angel angel,” Crowley crooned, throwing his arms around Aziraphale’s neck as the latter lifted him up bridal-style. “Thank satan—god—somebody—” He choked feebly. “I thought I was going to die.”

“Sorry I’m late, darling.” Aziraphale’s grip on him tightened. “I have to apologise. I’m afraid all of this is my fault.” 

Crowley stilled. He just realised the strange garment his angel was donning, white silk with embroidements of gold. A crown of laurels nestled in his cream locks. He reached up to touch them dazedly. Aziraphale gazed down at him, arctic eyes half-lidded. His wings, mantled protectively around him were pink. Crowley ran a hand over the tinted feathers in wonder. “Aziraphale. You’re…”

“Cupid. Yes. For a day.” He cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “And I’ve done a rather botched job. Shame I didn’t read the instruction manual—I’ve got it all wrong.” 

Oh, that’s so stupid. Crowley was so in love. “Did you now?”

“Yes. Well, you see, I’m supposed to kiss the target and then shoot an arrow at their partner to match them.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t think to kiss anyone apart from me today.”

“Of course not,” Aziraphale huffed. “So I went around London, shooting arrows willy-nilly, and got you into this predicament. I’m so very sorry.”

“Whatever.” Crowley was already appeased by being held close like this, where he could smell the lavender coming off Aziraphale’s robes. “Just undo...whatever you did.” He murmured into the angel’s chest. “And let’s go home.” 

Aziraphale beamed down at him. A perfectly timed sunset sprayed out behind his head, illuminating a gradient of soft peaches and tangerines in the shape of a distinct halo. “Certainly, dear.” 

From beneath Aziraphale’s feet radiated out a blinding flash of light. The humans threw their hands over their eyes. When the light had reduced to faint sparkles in the evening air, they blinked, utterly flummoxed as to why they were all squatting in an alleyway like this and clutching roses and chocolates in their hands. 

“Babe,” said the balloon guy to his lady friend, “I just had the  _ weirdest _ dream.”

She nursed her head. “Me too.” 

————

Cupid was on their fifth bowl of popcorn, rolling about in laughter at the spectacle below when they sensed a new presence approaching. They sobered, pushing themselves upright to perch cross-legged at the edge of a cloud.

“It was just as entertaining as you expected.” They shrugged airily. “Is that why you like them so much, Mother?”

God merely smiled. As she turned to leave, the northern wind blew and scattered the roses left in her wake all over the city. Couples would see this and glance up, marvelling at the rainbow arching across the sky. 

————

“Hnghhhhh.” Crowley groaned with his neck draped over the back of the sofa. He needed an ice pack, six glasses of wine, and Aziraphale’s hand to hold. “So glad that fuckery is finally over.” 

Laughter tittered close to his ear. Aziraphale leaned down briefly to peck him on the forehead. “Are you quite alright, my dear?”

He shuddered in horror. “Not after what you put me through. See, now I can’t even make dinner.” 

“Well.” Warm hands rubbed soothing circles down the front and back of his shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll find something else to do.”

Crowley tipped his head. Pulled his lips into a lazy smirk. “Oh?”

Aziraphale bent down to kiss him. Smiled against his lips teasingly, holding the back of his neck steady. Crowley made an impatient noise in his throat. With a single hand he yanked Aziraphale down over the back of the sofa, so that he settled atop of Crowley with the demon effectively pinned in place. 

“What do you propose, angel mine?” Crowley’s gold eyes gleamed with pleasure. 

“Anything you like.”

They met each other halfway to seal their lips together again. From the kitchen, their vintage radio resumed from where it had been rudely silenced in the morning, filling the room with sweet music. 

“ _ Still I've had no love like your love,  _

_ from nobody. _ ”

Aziraphale smiled. He drew back to sing along, “ _ I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint. _ ”

“ _ I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave. _ ” Crowley mouthed the words against his lips, drawing them softly shut.

“ _ But I want you to know  _

_ that I've had no love  _

_ like your love. _ ”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Mr Hozier for this beautiful song. The moment I heard it it just screamed Aziraphale at me. 
> 
> I dunno what happened to me today. Managed to study, finished this fic, and even hung out with my friend. Unprecedented!! Anyways, finals is next week so I have to put the reverse AU on hold for a bit. 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading, and hope y’all have a lovely Valentine’s Day! (I sure did, gobbling up all the ineffable content on tumblr ^^) 
> 
> Please feel free to point out any mistakes because I’m so so tired. Gonna collapse on my bed now. Save proofreading for another day -3-


End file.
